


Damnit Sam

by RavenGrey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Gen, Humor, Kid Dean, Kid Fic, Kid Sam, Kid Winchesters, Stubborn Sam, Weecest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 14:03:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2272515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenGrey/pseuds/RavenGrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first thing John does when he reads the note pinned to his kid is grumble an exasperated “Damnit Sam.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Damnit Sam

**Author's Note:**

  * For [magicbubblepipe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicbubblepipe/gifts).



> eeeeeeehhhhh

 

            The first thing John does when he reads the note pinned to his kid is grumble an exasperated “Damnit Sam.”

             Which _really_ doesn’t help the issue, considering the fact that his 6 year old thinks his name is actually Damnit Sam Winchester. It’s what he’s been writing at the top of all his papers and his teacher is just the _littlest_ bit concerned. Or so says the note. 

            John crumples up the teddy-bear covered stationary and lobs it into the garbage. He breathes out hard through his nose and drags a hand down his scruffy face.

            Sam’s head perks up, barely concealed mischief in his bright hazel eyes as he looks up at John.

            “Yep?” Sam’s got a half-eaten crayon clutched in his tiny fingers and Dean takes it from him before he can finish it. He slides the stub back in the box and reaches for the crayons.

            “Sammy, if you eat the crayons, how’re you gonna color with ‘em?” Dean says, wrinkling his nose as he checks the back of the box to see whether or not they’re toxic. Sam pouts a little, but doesn’t try to eat anymore as he goes back to coloring.

            Sam smiles, a gap-tooth grin flecked with little bits of crayon, and spits out the chunks he hadn’t swallowed.

            Dean flicks a slobbery chunk of red crayon off his knee. “Gross dude.”

            Sammy giggles and goes back to coloring while John looks on in confusion. Kids are fuckin’ weird.

            One resigned phone call to Sam’s teacher later and he’s got a parent-teacher conference scheduled for the next day and a not-so- mild headache. Dean’s looking at him, worried, body unconsciously moving to block Sammy from John’s view. John’s never hit either of them, but he yells an awful lot sometimes and Sam gets scared real easy.

            John frowns, a small unhappy twist of his lips and ruffles Sammy’s hair.

             “Just gotta meet with Sammy’s teacher, straighten some things out, s’it’s fine.” He offers Dean a smile that’s worn around the edges and doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Dean nods, a short jerk of his head, and ducks his head as he colors in Aquaman’s boots.

            “You can’t come.” Sam says cheerfully, scribbling with the purple crayon. John doesn’t remember the Hulk being violently purple, but he could be remembering wrong. “I’m supposed to bring my daddy.”

            “Sammy, I am your dad.” John sighs, running a hand through hair. It stays that way, sticking up in odd spikes, and he figures it’s about time for a shower. Dean’s still focused on shading Aquaman’s boots, tongue poking out between his lips and doesn’t notice the turn the conversation has taken.   

            “No,” Sam says, the picture of patience as he gives the Hulk a shock of bright orange hair “your my John, Dean’s my daddy.”

            Dean looks up, eyes wide and apprehensive, as John tips his head back and grumbles a tired “ _Damnit Sam_.” Sam looks adamant though, these are facts for the little dude, and he’s not going to be swayed.

            John tromps past the two of them to the tiny bathroom, muttering “I’m way too tired to deal with this” as he shuffles into the bathroom and kicks the door shut behind him.

            Dean waits until the shower kicks on to try and set Sammy straight. “John’s your dad, Sammich, you know that.” His eyebrows crinkle and Sam turns that blunt stubbornness on him.

            “Daddy’s are supposed to take care of you, make sure you’re happy and safe and warm. John doesn’t do that. You do.”

            Dean’s throat feels tight and his eyes are hot. He blinks fiercely and smoothes Sam’s hair down where John had ruffled it “Love you Sammy.” He says finally, voice quiet. Sam beams at him, wide grin splitting his chubby baby face as he lunges forward to plant a wet kiss on Dean’s cheek.

             “Ugh, damnit Sammy, gross.” Dean groans, albeit quietly, thoroughly disgusted. If John heard him swear he’d probably smack him one.

            Sam blows a sloppy raspberry on his cheek and pulls away with a giggle. “Love you mostest Dean.”

            Dean wipes at his slobbery cheek, protesting loudly even though he’s got a smile that could put sunshine to shame on his face.

            John comes out and faceplants on the bed wearing the same dirty clothes he’d worn in, which is kinda pointless, Dean thinks.  

            He makes sure dad’s out of it before leaning in and quickly kissing Sammy’s forehead. Sam finishes up his drawing and signs it at the bottom. He hands it to Dean with a proud smile and starts to put up the crayons while Dean carefully folds it up and puts it in his jacket pocket.

            “Thanks Sammy, it’s great.” He pats it, weirdly proud of his orange-haired Hulk as he helps Sam put away the coloring books.

             After, he leads Sammy outside, careful not to wake up dad, and they play out in the yard until it starts to get dark. The house they’re staying in is less of a house and more of a two-bedroom shack, so naturally the neighborhood isn’t all that great and they have to be inside before the sun sets.

            Dean’s got Sam in bed by 8, teeth brushed and pink from his bath, so he has time to do his homework. He gets Sam’s school stuff ready for in the morning before he crawls into bed with Sam. Sam sighs, eyes slitting open, and curls into Dean’s side.

            Dean wraps his arms around Sam, burying his face in Sam’s wet hair, and doesn’t fall asleep until Sam’s breaths even out.

            Dean has Sam up and almost ready by the time John drags himself out of bed. Getting Sam’s socks on is always a butt and he’s in the middle of it when John staggers bleary-eyed out of the bathroom. He’s changed clothes though, and shaved, so that’s encouraging.

            “C’mon Sammy, just friggin’ let me put yer socks on.” Dean grunts when Sam kicks him in the chest and wrangles one sock onto Sam’s teeny foot. Sam kicks him again and Dean gets the other sock on with a triumphant yell. He rubs at his throbbing chest and mutters out a grumpy “Dangit Sam.”

            He locks both hands around Sam’s ankle and tickles him mercilessly while John putters around and makes what-he-calls coffee. As far as Dean can tell, it’s black sludge and he wants nothing to do with it. While Sam’s hiccupping with laughter, Dean slides on his shoes.

             John’s waiting in the car, grumpier than the two of them combined and Dean hastily slips Sam’s backpack on his shoulders. He takes Sam’s hand in his and leads him to the car. Sam scrabbles into the back and Dean climbs in after him.

            Dean helps Sam with his seat-belt and then buckles up while John throws back a slug of coffee from his thermos. Sam’s kicking his feet lightly, gripping Dean’s hand and trying to look out the window while John pulls away from the curb.

            Dean runs his fingers through Sam’s messy hair and Sam wrinkles his nose and swats at Dean’s hand. John turns up the radio and Dean bobs his head to the music. Sam wiggles his foot to the beat and Dean smiles at him and mouths the lyrics, making the little dude laugh quietly.

            It’s a 15 minute drive to Sammy’s school. It’s not exactly the best, but they only have to walk home sometimes and Dean is always there for Sammy when school gets out. Dean walks him home during his lunch period and makes sure Sammy has something to eat before he heads back to school.

            He gets out and swings Sammy down, much to his delight, and tries to hand him off to John. Sammy doesn’t want to let go of Dean’s fingers though and he holds onto him with all the tenacity of a pissed-off octopus. John sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose and gestures for them to move it.

            Sam grins triumphantly and swings their hands as he hurries after John, dragging Dean along behind him.

             “Sammy, I got school.” Dean tries to say sternly, but Sam turns huge, wibbly eyes on him and that’s how he ends up attending Sammy’s parent teacher conference. “You’re a spoiled brat, you know that?” Dean snorts, flicking Sammy’s nose.

            Sam blows a raspberry at him and hauls him inside while John holds the door open. He doesn’t wait for John, just drags Dean along excitedly.

            Dean’s a little embarrassed; their bedraggled entourage is garnering some looks from a few of the teachers and some of the other parents. John follows at a more sedate pace, giving the soccer mom that’s eyeballing him a jaunty wave as he passes her.

            He smells like the road and alcoholism, no amount of showers is ever going to wash that out, and looks like he kills people for a living. Which, he kind of does, so, they’re not exactly wrong to side-eye him and huddle closer together.

            He passes a few classrooms before he gets to Sam’s. It’s a bright room, full of motivational kitty posters and one wall is nothing but crayon drawings. John nudges a floppy elephant out of the doorway and makes his way over to where Sam’s introducing Dean to his teacher.

            Judging from the way Dean’s big ears are red, John’s guessing Sammy had just introduced him as his daddy. John figures it should bother him that his own son doesn’t think of him as his dad, but he hasn’t earned the title and Dean has. About a hundred times over. It makes him sad and tired all the way down to his bones.

            “And who’s this?” Ms. Somethin’ or other, Lauren? Darma? he doesn’t actually care, asks in a chirpy voice that stabs John right behind the eyes.

            “That’s John.” Sam says bluntly over his shoulder, dragging Dean over to wall of drawings and proudly pointing out which ones are his. Dean knows for definite which ones belong to Sammy, ‘cause they’re signed “Damnit Sam Winchester” in painstakingly careful scrawl.

            “I’m John.” He confirms wryly, offering the slight women a hand. She shakes it enthusiastically, covering John’s hand with both of hers, and offers him a too wide smile that makes him vaguely nervous. She’s wearing a dress that makes his eyes hurt and John’s kinda regretting not just skipping town.

            “It’s so nice to finally meet Sam’s father, he talks so much about you.” she gives him that same unnerving smile (others would call it friendly) and gestures to one the mini-tables. He cocks an eyebrow at the tiny chairs and then gives her an ‘are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me look?’

            Her smile widens, goes a little sharp, and she waits for him to sit with her hands clasped neatly in front of her. He heaves a sigh and sits down in the 7 year old sized chair. Sam laughs at him and drags Dean over to the table.

            “He’s not my daddy,” Sam says firmly, sitting across from Dean “Dean’s my daddy. He’s just John.” Dean sighs and flicks an arts and craft puffball at him. Dean’s not sure exactly what they’re for, but it arches beautifully and bounces off Sam’s forehead.

             “Dangit Sammy,” Dean mutters quietly “ _he’s_ your dad, ‘m your brother.”

            Sam looks at him, considering and stares Dean right in the eye “No.”

            Dean groans and thunks his head against the table. “You’re killin’ me Sammy.” Sam just smiles at him and Dean bounces his head off the table again.

            Ms. Marcus, he wasn’t _even_ close, looks confused and more than a little concerned. John shrugs. Dean dodges the pipe cleaner Sam throws at him like a miniature javelin. Ms. Marcus watches the pipe-cleaner skitter across the floor with all the patience that comes with being a 2 nd grade teacher.

            “Boys, that’s enough,” Ms. Marcus says sternly and turns to address John “Now, Mr. Winchester, the reason you’re here is that Sam seems to think his name is, well, you know what he thinks his name is and that is completely unacceptabl-”

            Sam clambers up on the table while they’re talking and bends down to pick up a jar of glitter. He sneaks up on John quietly, footsteps muted by the delighted screams of the children playing outside. He uncaps it and stops in front of John, who’s seated at the end of the table and is turned so he’s facing Sammy’s teacher.

            Dean shakes his head frantically, scrabbling over the table and trying to get to Sam before he does the unthinkable.

            Sam upturns the entire jar of glitter on John’s head, a cascade of shiny pink that settles in his hair and coats his shoulders. Sam gives the jar a good shake and the last bit of glitter flutters down as Dean pulls him off the table. He’s got Sam under the armpits, the empty glitter container held loosely in front of him.

             John blinks some off it out of his eyes, glitter clinging to his eyelashes and dusts some of it off his shoulders. Ms. Marcus’ slaps a hand over her mouth and John gives his head a shake. An avalanche of glitter falls off and he spits out a few gritty pieces.

             “ _Damnit Sam_ ” Dean groans, horrified, and John cracks a tiny grin.

 


End file.
